


On the Rise

by Rags (RedK_addict)



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drama, Family, Family Drama, Friendship, Gen, Sequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-20
Updated: 2010-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:05:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedK_addict/pseuds/Rags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dark past, a formidable gang, a missing girl, and an estranged father. Yeah, you'd be glum and dumb too, if you were having such a bad day. The long-awaited sequel to Making a Living. Tells the tale of Louise, Anna, and Skittery, and how they're reunited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Upset the Status Quo

**Author's Note:**

> So it's five a.m., and document manager just _ate_ my ridiculously long author's note and disclaimer in which I mentioned the reviewers from Making a Living and explained the title and everything. I don't feel like typing it out again, so you'll have to wait for next chapter. Anyway, hope you like it. Please leave me a review, it would make my day so much better... I hate the internet right now... Actually, scratch that. I'm kinda specifically hating document manager right now...

_Anyone with half a brain  
Can see that humankind has gone insane  
To the point where I don't know  
If I'll upset the status quo  
If I throw poison in the water main_

* * *

When it came to the Bowery boys, there were two things you just didn't do. One was to try to cross their territory with more than five cents in your pockets. The other was to try to cross their territory empty-handed. There was a five-cent toll to pass through the Bowery, and even Spot Conlon himself knew better than to refuse to pay. Most of the Manhattan newsies preferred to steer clear of the Bowery whenever possible. It was just easier on everyone involved to avoid the problem altogether.

The Bowery boys, of course, were pickpockets, some of the best in the city. But their band was extremely disorganized. They had no way of passing information, so even if you paid their toll to pass through, you had no guarantee that other members of the gang wouldn't take more off you. The only guarantee you had was that you'd get through safe, because if you tried passing through without paying, you'd be followed. And then you'd be taught a lesson. Even traveling in groups was no good. It just meant they'd follow longer until there were enough of them to overpower.

And there were always enough. Nobody knew how many there were, or even who was in the gang in the first place. They had a select few that ventured outside the boundary for larger game and reconnaissance, but most of them stuck to the Bowery, picking off of any poor, unsuspecting travelers that happened to wander past their borders. When they could be bothered with authority, the gang was mostly led by three large, intimidating boys – one of them originally from Brooklyn and two from Queens – but it wasn't often that they banded together for any particular reason other than soaking anyone who refused to pay passage.

Their favorite prey were the newsies who decided to take their chances selling in the Bowery. For some time, this had caused a lot of tension on the streets, but the Bowery boys finally settled on a system. For triple the price, a newsie could buy selling rights in the Bowery, which included protection from pickpockets for the day. Due to their lack of a communication system, they required these newsies to wear green to set them apart – it was a largely Irish community of boys. It wasn't a perfect arrangement, mostly because they didn't make it widely known, but it eased enough of the tension that the two groups were no longer at each other's throats all the time.

Mush Meyers was one of the few newsies bold enough to brave the Bowery on more than a few occasions a month. In fact, the Bowery was his primary selling spot. Business there was pretty good, seeing as how few newsies dared venture there in the first place, so to him it was well worth the risk and the extra cash – though some people began to wonder if he owned more than just the one green shirt.

On the day that the strike started, Mush offered to take the Bowery because he knew he could get in easy. As of a few weeks ago, a few of the Bowery Boys had got it into their head that selling papes was an easy way to make a few extra cents, otherwise he wouldn't have even bothered. He'd planned on asking Kid Blink to go with him – Blink often sold in the Bowery with him, armed with his green scarf for protection – but the one-eyed newsie had already claimed Harlem, so Mush was left with no choice but to go alone. Though, as he soon found out, it was a largely unnecessary action.

It might very well have been his imagination, but he could have sworn he'd seen a kid, about seven or eight years old, hanging around and watching the newsies as they planned their strike. As soon as they'd split up and scattered throughout New York to spread the news, Mush was pretty sure he'd seen the kid scurry off, almost as if he was afraid of being seen. But he couldn't be sure, and it didn't seem important at the time, so he went off in the direction of the Bowery, steeling himself for the confrontation he knew was bound to come.

As soon as he reached the border, he was informed that his visit was expected. This surprised him, first and foremost because it showed that the Bowery Boys were getting better at keeping up communications. Not to mention that the leaders were beginning to assert their authority more over the gang in general. A shiver ran down his spine as he was led to an abandoned warehouse somewhere in the middle of their territory, where he was sure the leaders were waiting for him.

Sure enough, as he entered the rundown old building, he saw the three large boys standing there, surrounded by about fifty others with clubs and other various weapons of a rather unsavory nature. One of the leaders, a red-head with a spitfire temper aptly named Sparky, stepped forward to greet him as he approached. "Mush," Sparky intoned with a grin. "Button here said you'd be comin'." He motioned over his shoulder to a kid dressed in ragged, oversized clothes and with a large hat shoved down over his eyes.

The same kid Mush had seen at the square.

One of the leaders from Queens, an older, burly boy known as Boxer, shuffled forward, towering over the newsie with a menacing glare in his eyes. Mush took an involuntary step backwards. "We ain't too happy 'bout dis strike thing," Boxer snarled. What the big bruiser lacked in brains, he more than made up for in brawn. Anyone who ventured into the Bowery knew better than to cross Boxer.

Just as dangerous was the intellect behind the whole operation – a boy of about sixteen named Tip. He was Boxer's younger brother, though you wouldn't know it to look at him. The two of them were about as different as pears and apples. Sparky may have been the head of the gang, but Tip was the one pulling the strings. With Boxer providing the muscle, the three of them made up a formidable force. They were the reason nobody went into the Bowery at night.

Tip, standing on the other side of Sparky, clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he shook his head. "Mushy-boy, we's mighty disappointed in ya," he said softly. "Here we thought you was smart enough to know better'n to come askin' us for help in your little game. Waste'a your time. Not to mention what precious little money ya got left."

"I didn't come lookin' for _your_ help," Mush stated as calmly as he could. Boxer always made him nervous, standing there looking like he was ready to rip somebody's head off. "I came for da newsies ya got livin' here now. I know ya got some'a your boys sellin' for da _World_. Dey can't be happy 'bout dis any more'n we are."

"So what if dey ain't?" Sparky snapped, pausing a moment to spit contemptuously at the ground. "Ain't none'a your business, is it?"

"Frankly, Mush," Tip said, patiently interrupting Sparky's impending tirade, "it just ain't a smart move for us, dis whole strike thing. Now, you an' your boys can go an' have your fun, dallyin' around an' pretendin' to be all kinds'a important. But us, we gots a reputation here to uphold."

"Besides," Sparky went on, "I ain't doin' _nuttin_' 'til I see what Brooklyn's gonna do. Dat'll be da clincher, for sure. Ask any borough, dey'll tell ya da same."

"Sorry, Mushy." Tip shrugged, an apologetic look on his face. He'd always kinda liked Mush, if for no other reason than that he was a regular customer in their territory. "It's just too soon. Hey, how 'bout ya stick wit' us awhile, huh? Wait it out a bit, see how da pieces fall…"

Mush just sighed and shook his head. Jack wasn't going to be happy about this one bit. And he really hoped that Sparky was wrong, and that the others were having better luck in the other boroughs.


	2. All That Will Remain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, explanation forthcoming. First of all, this story is dedicated to all the wonderful people who reviewed Making a Living. Especially Eavis, whose review was the one that actually sparked this idea in the first place. Secondly, the title (as well as all the chapter titles and the lyrics at the beginning of each) comes from the song "My Eyes" performed by Neil Patrick Harris and Felicia Day in the Joss Whedon short comedy, _Dr. Horrible's Sing-along Blog_. I'd highly suggest finding it on YouTube, it's an amazing song. Mostly I used it because I really think it shows the duality between Skittery and Louise (which will become abundantly more apparent later on in the story). Anyways, I would like to now thank everyone who has already reviewed this story.
> 
> Speaking of the reviews, I just want to say that, with the exception of Dutchy's minor cameo in Bum Out, Bumlets is the first extremely background character that I've written so far. I've kinda avoided it, because I was afraid of being way off on the characterization, but then I realized that the reason I was worried is because they don't have much characterization to begin with, which leaves me a lot of room to explore. I plan on bumping up Bumlets' role in this story, as well as doing a little character study with Crutchy and Louise later on. Also, even though Skittery doesn't actually come into the story really until a few chapters in, this story really is about him. So keep that in mind. Anyway, this chapter kinda wraps up the history, and sets us up for the next couple chapters, so please read, enjoy, and leave me reviews!&lt;/

_Listen close to everybody's heart  
And hear that breaking sound  
Hopes and dreams are shattering apart  
And crashing to the ground_

* * *

Jonathan O'Connelly, Sr., really was a decent sort of person, despite what anyone else might think. He'd simply had the tragic misfortune of falling in love and marrying beneath his family's social standing. Not to say that there was anything wrong with Amanda Baker, or that it was unfortunate that they fell in love. The misfortune was that his family so despised his choice when they found out.

Amanda Baker was beautiful in a very plain sort of way, with straight, mouse-brown hair and chocolate-brown eyes that always seemed to sparkle. When she laughed – which was often – the sound was contagious, high and clear and musical. Even when Jonathan was in his darkest of moods, he never could resist her warm, sweet smile. Somehow they had managed to hide their forbidden romance for sixteen years before Jonathan's family discovered their secret.

Jonathan was a business man learning his family's trade. The O'Connelly's were land owners with holdings throughout Brooklyn, though they were mostly from Queens. A very well-off and wealthy family, they could certainly afford to be snobbish and arrogant, especially when it came to their standards for marriage. Jonathan's mother in particular was very specific about what sort of girl she wanted her son to marry.

Jonathan, however, had other plans. One of which was to marry whom he pleased and to choose by his own standards, few of which actually matched up with those of his family. But unfortunately, they had already accounted for his rebellious nature and, since he was indeed still living off of his family's money while he learned his trade, he was pretty much stuck doing whatever he was told to do. And then his mother set him up with a lovely little creature named Emma, who was just as stuck-up and arrogant as the rest of his family, and threatened to disown him if he refused to marry her.

That was when Jonathan O'Connelly disappeared from Queens and ran away to Manhattan Island. There, somewhere among the sweatshops and the factories, he met Amanda Baker. She was absolutely nothing that his family wanted for him, being a low-class sweatshop girl from a poor family. But she was everything that he wanted for himself. She was gentle, soft-spoken and kind, with such a sparkle and a love for life that he had never before seen in anyone he had ever come into contact with in his high-society upbringing. They fell deeply in love, and Jonathan would have married her right then, except for the nagging fact that he currently had no means to support them.

And so he did the best thing he could think of. He wrote a letter back to his mother, informing her that he did not love Emma, and warning her that if she continued in her attempts to force him to marry, then none of his family would ever see him again. He also told her that he would be moving to Manhattan in order to expand his horizons and gain a better perspective on the family business from the other side of the bridge. Naturally, he made absolutely no mention of Amanda.

Since his mother was positively sick with worry over her son as it was, she of course agreed to his terms. Surprisingly enough, no one ever caught on to the real reason why he moved. Jonathan and Amanda were married shortly after, and they lived together in a small apartment in Manhattan. Jonathan continued to work in Brooklyn, while Amanda kept up her job in the sweatshop in Manhattan, and for sixteen years no one was the wiser.

I truly wish I could say that their story ends on that happy note. Unfortunately I cannot. They were living blissfully with their three children, with Jonathan on the verge of breaking into business for himself, when the O'Connelly's finally caught wind of his secret life. They threatened to cut him off completely if he didn't leave them and come back to Queens immediately.

Jonathan O'Connelly, Jr., was fifteen years old when his father left unexpectedly. Louise O'Connelly was nine. Anna was three.

Originally, Jonathan planned to go back and appease his family long enough to get his own business up and running, sending money back to support his wife in Manhattan until he could rejoin her. Amanda was well aware of his plans, and understood that he only wanted to protect his wife and children. But Jonny didn't. He despised his father for walking out on them. Even more so when tragedy struck the little struggling household.

After nearly a year, and with his own business finally underway, Jonathan went back to Manhattan – only to find his wife dead and his children missing.

* * *

Thirteen-year-old Louise O'Connelly sat curled up in the corner of her room and cried. For what was probably the third time that week, she'd been sent to bed early without food. Not that she was really missing out on much, seeing as how she could barely choke down the unsavory scraps they were given anyway – which was saying a lot, since she really wasn't very picky to begin with. At the moment, however, she would have willingly choked down anything just to stop the gnawing in her stomach.

Given the charges she was serving time for, Warden Snyder had it in his head that she needed constant corrective treatment. Most of the time, she didn't even have to have done anything to receive punishment of one sort or another. The majority of her time here over the past six months had been spent in solitary, locked up in her room with only the occasional unsavory meal being passed through the narrow slot.

Six months. She shook her head as she pulled her knees up closer to her chest. It was hard to believe it had already been that long. She would have been in line to leave soon, if it hadn't been for her various desperate attempts to escape after the first couple months. Somehow she'd managed to rack up her sentence – not to mention the price on her bail – which was making it harder and harder to hold on to the hope that she'd ever make it out.

Her older brother had come by to see her maybe a month ago and told her to hang in there and stick it out. He'd gone through this whole inspiring – albeit sorely unconvincing – speech about how he'd work hard and save up to get her out legally, so that they'd never have to worry about the law chasing them down. He told stories about some kid that he lived with who had broken out long ago and was still running from the bulls every time he turned around.

And then the poor kid had sat there and apologized to no end for landing her here in the first place. Not that she had ever blamed him for it. Sure, it technically should have been him here instead of her, but she'd never held that against him. He had a steady job and was far more capable of living on the streets by himself than she could ever hope to be. She shuddered to think of what it might have been like if he actually _had_ been taken in her place. At least here she had a bed and a roof, if not much else.

And then there were the boys in the bunkroom down the hall. Most of them were nice enough to begin with, but as soon as they'd found out that her brother was a newsie in Manhattan, it was like she'd stepped into some kind of special status within their prison. They became highly protective of her, doing their best to make sure she had enough to eat, sneaking her food when she didn't, and generally watching out for her whenever they had the chance. They'd come by her cell when she was in solitary, schooling her in the various factions amongst the newsies, the best selling tips and methods – many of them had been newsies at one point or another – and some of the more well-known names in their ranks like the infamous Spot Conlon from Brooklyn, or Cowboy Kelly, the leader of the Manhattan faction.

She was grateful for the company, and for such an in-depth glance at the world in which her brother now lived – Jonny never was much for talking, so this was the most she'd ever heard about it. But when the news started trickling in about bad headlines and poor business, her heart sank. And then, when rumors reached them about a newsies strike because of a change in the price of papers, her hopes were completely shattered. Even if Jonny didn't join in the protest, selling would be difficult, and saving money at that price would be even harder. Besides, she knew how violent strikers could get about anyone who crossed their line. Thoughts of her big brother lying beaten in some alley because he tried to continue working toward her bail made her heart sink even further.

Louise sniffled softly and brushed a hand across her eyes, trying unsuccessfully to push the thoughts away. She could hear Tenpin shuffling outside the door, probably wondering if she was okay, but she ignored him. Usually Jonny was the pessimistic one. But Jonny wasn't here. With the thought, her mood plummeted even further, and fresh tears trickled down her face.

She was beginning to think she'd never get out of here.


	3. Crash to the Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya, guys! I'm finally posting another chapter. I'd like to apologize to everyone for taking so long on this. But I kinda had good reason. See, I just finished up another story, which brings me to a grand total of two ever completed chapter fics! WHOO! This whole "outline" thing really seems to work! *Ahem* Anyhow, here we are. Again, as I said before, Skittery doesn't actually make his appearance until the next chapter, but keep in mind this is all about him. And, yes Skitts, I owe you an apology for blaming my writer's block on you this past week, given the fact that you are not in fact present in this chapter.
> 
> Skittery: _Thank_ you!
> 
> Rags: Anyway, moving on...

_I cannot believe my eyes  
How the world's filled with filth and lies  
But it's plain to see  
Evil inside of me  
Is on the rise_

* * *

David's rallying words went much farther than he could ever have imagined. Before any of them really knew what was going on, the little band of strikers was surging forward, cries of "seize the day" echoing back to them from the walls of the World building. They were every one of them just waiting for an excuse to pound on the small group of scabs that was gathered nervously by the gates of the Distribution Office. Fortunately for the scabs, the gates opened up just as the strikers approached. What followed was a mostly peaceful stand-off in which the strikers refused to let anyone through their ranks with papes to sell. The Manhattan boys were out to prove – to Brooklyn and all the other boroughs – that they meant business.

Bumlets stood with Skittery and Pie Eater at the back of the line of scabbers, resting the end of his stick casually on the ground between his feet. He knew that, between him and Pie, their size alone would be enough to intimidate most of these boys into joining them – or, at the very least, into backing off. Along with Skitts, they were the oldest of the Manhattan newsies.

Skittery and Bumlets had been good friends pretty much since the day they'd met on the corner of Thomas and Broadway four years ago, when Skitts had wound up in something of a territory dispute with Manhattan's own Dynamic Duo, Mush and Blink. The two older boys had become occasional selling partners, with Bumlets developing a particular attachment to Skittery's three-year-old sister, Anna. Being an only child himself, he found younger siblings fascinating.

At this particular moment, Skittery had stepped up to block the path of one particular scab who didn't seem too intimidated by the group of angry strikers. The kid had walked forward with his stack of papes and was actually attempting to move around the ring of former newsies that was swiftly closing in on him. Each time he came into contact with the wall of bodies, he was shoved back with increasing force and hostility, all the while David was rather unsuccessfully trying to calm everyone down. Bumlets watched as Skittery's eyes went dark and challenging. Something had been bothering his melancholy friend of late, and he had a suspicious feeling it had to do with Anna.

And then Jack knocked the stack of papes to the ground. The scab stood motionless, staring at Jack with a look of incredulous rage. There was a beat of silence, all eyes focused on the pair as they faced off. Hands balled into fists all around, and the entire circle seemed to be bouncing on its toes, waiting for someone to make the first move. The scab bent down, painfully slow, to retrieve his papers, and then…

Suddenly the spell was broken. The scabber shoved Jack, trying in a last-ditch effort to break past the group, but was thrown backward as the strikers surged forward. It was like the last thread holding them back had been snapped. All over, the Manhattan boys were running through the Distribution Office like a whirlwind, pushing the scabs against the far wall and destroying every paper in sight. A sort of celebratory frenzy was underway, with newsprint flying in every direction.

Bumlets was just tearing through a stack of papes when he felt something brush against the back of his neck. His hand flew automatically to his head, only to find his hat suddenly missing. Spinning around quickly, he just barely caught sight of a small figure slipping out the gates and into the street, his old tan hat clutched tightly in one hand. With one brief glance at the chaos around him, Bumlets took off at a dead run after the figure, nearly bowling over Kid Blink in his haste to get out onto the street.

Once outside the Distribution Office, he turned in the direction he had seen the figure heading, catching sight of the slight form ducking into a nearby alley. When he turned into the narrow space, he nearly pitched forward on his face trying to stop. Standing right near the entrance was the kid who had taken his hat.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, he crept closer. The kid didn't back down, watching him intently with curious brown eyes set in a dirt-smeared face. He couldn't have been older than seven or eight, if the soft, innocent expression he wore was any judge, but age that only time on the streets could give was shining through his eyes.

Bumlets reached out slowly, gesturing to his hat. "C'mon, kid," he said gently. "Ya got your own. Give mine back."

The kid made no move to do so, but neither did he look like he was about to run off again. "I been watchin' you," he said simply, almost shrugging as he did.

"Yeah?" Something about the kid did seem slightly familiar. Bumlets shifted easily as he tried to remember where he might've seen him before. "What for?"

"For Sparky."

"The Bowery Boys," Bumlets concluded, pieces falling into place. "Mush said they had a kid spyin' on us. You must be Button."

Button nodded, glancing toward the alley entrance as a series of whistles sounded on the street. Shortly after, a troupe of cops ran past in the direction of the Distribution Office. "Bulls," he whispered, eyes going wide.

His hat forgotten, Bumlets raced out of the alley and down the street. He hardly noticed Button following tentatively behind, a wide-eyed look of near-terror plastered on his young face. When they'd made it back to the front gate, there was nothing left but a lingering flurry of newsprint and a House of Refuge paddywagon lumbering off past crowds of curious onlookers. Bumlets pulled up short and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair, high spirits from earlier quickly plummeting. "The bulls got 'em," he breathed, shock etching its way across his face.

"Hey, Bumlets!" came a voice from across the street. He turned, searching the crowd for who had called his name, and was immediately comforted to see Mush jogging toward him, his usually bright disposition clearly crumpled. When the younger newsie finally stopped next to him, he let loose a genuine grin of relief and clapped Mush gently on the shoulder. "What's he doin' here?" Mush asked, shooting Button a dark glance.

The older boy, having nearly forgotten about Button altogether, turned and promptly snatched his hat from the kid's shaking fist. "I's about to ask him the same thing. But first – what happened, Mush?"

Mush shook his head, his face taking on a distinctly pained expression. "Dey got Crutchy."

"That all?" Mush shrugged a little and nodded, still looking rather crestfallen, as Bumlets let out an easy breath. "Don't worry, then. Cowboy'll take care of him." Then, he turned to Button, shoving his hat down pointedly on his head. "As for you," he began slowly, "just whaddaya think you's doin'?"

Button was positively trembling by this point, though whether from Bumlets' stern glare or the recent appearance of the cops could not be determined. "I… I's gonna ask ya for a favor," he said softly, his voice pitching and shaking.

"What, so you's figured the best way to ask was to steal my hat?"

Button's gaze dropped to the ground as he fiddled guiltily with his oversized shirt. "I's just tryin' to get you's to pay attention to me. Didn't mean no harm by it. Some kids, they take to throwin' rocks or callin' names…"

The poor boy looked practically on the verge of tears by this point. Bumlets sighed and shook his head. "Hey, c'mon kid. I'm sorry I's so hard on ya. You's right, no harm done." Button gave a little sniffle, peeking up hopefully from beneath the brim of his large hat. "Now… What was it you's wantin' to ask me?"

"That kid? Crutchy?" Button asked timidly. "They's takin' him to the Refuge, ain't they?"

"Yeah, probly."

"An' ya said that Cowboy… He's gonna go see him, right?"

"You's can bet on that, kid."

Wavering slightly before he continued, Button pulled a worn scrap of paper from his trouser pocket. "Ya think… Ya think he'd give this to him for me?"


	4. Filth and Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! Alright, my lovelies, we have conquered the dreaded and infamous Third Chapter. Literally, I have three other stories stuck on this Third Chapter, and the way this was going I started to worry that this story might join them. But no! We have emerged victorious! Now then. I am utterly shocked that it took me three whole chapters just to do the set-up for this story. I'm sure you'll all be overjoyed to hear that we actually get to see some of Skittery, at long last. He will proceed to be in every chapter from here on out.

_Look around  
We're living with the lost and found  
Just when you feel you've almost drowned  
You find yourself on solid ground_

* * *

He was nineteen. He was her older brother. By all accounts, he should have been her legal guardian. But, for one reason or another, they wouldn't let him take her.

She was too young to be on the streets, they'd tell him, and he was a newsboy without any kind of permanent residence. What was more, the lodging house he was currently staying at had an age limit of eighteen, and according to Mr. Kloppman's records – and of course, they had to check them – he was only seventeen. If he would lie about something as trivial as his age, then who was to say he wasn't also lying about his relationship to Anna? At least, that was how they saw it at the orphanage. And as such, they wouldn't even let him see her.

No matter how many times they turned him away, though, Skittery kept coming back – begging, demanding, whatever he felt it would take to get his sister back. He'd show up at least once or twice a month, usually more often than that, asking to see her. When they stopped answering the front door every time he came, he began appearing at the back door, trying to convince the housekeeper to let him in "just for a second". So far, to no avail.

It was during one of these visits that it happened. He was shuffling around in the alley behind the orphanage after once again being refused entry when he was suddenly aware of someone watching him. His first instinct was to glance back at the orphanage kitchen door, but when this showed it to still be closed and barred right, his gaze traveled to the alley entrance. There was a tall man in a sharp-looking business suit standing just inside the alley, a dark bowler hat casting shadows in his face in the already dim light. The bright afternoon sun shining on the street beyond cast the figure in a near silhouette, making specific details difficult to determine, but he had all the stance of a man who was completely lost.

Skittery froze, his frustrated pacing nearly forgotten as he watched the man carefully. The man watched him back for a while, but somehow it didn't seem hostile. He seemed, rather, to be taking in the entire alley with some kind of searching intensity, and Skittery was merely a part of that gathering of information. Feeling rather uncomfortable with the strange silence after some time, Skittery cleared his throat awkwardly to bring the man's attention fully on him. "Lookin' for somethin'?" he asked, trying and failing to keep the curiosity from his voice.

The man nodded absently and took a few tentative steps further into the alley. "Yeah," he replied, "I'm looking for the orphanage on 36th."

A short, bitter laugh escaped Skittery's throat as he gestured up at the building next to him. "Right here. Front entrance is on the other side, though, down the block at 36th."

The man nodded his thanks, still seeming distracted, and continued studying the alley. "You live here?" he asked softly, also seeming to fail at his attempt to hide his blatant curiosity. Clearly this guy didn't have much contact with the other half of life.

Skitts just shook his head, strangely not at all bothered by the question. "Newsboys Lodging House on Duane," he explained. "I'm here to visit my sister." Cringing slightly, he paused to give a self-conscious shrug. "It's a long story."

It didn't seem like the man in the suit was at all interested in dropping the subject, however. Skittery glanced around a little awkwardly as silence once again descended between them. Then, instead of simply leaving, the man stepped farther into the alley toward him. As before, the action didn't seem hostile at all, just inquisitive. As the distance between them slowly closed, Skittery was able to make out more details about this strange figure. The first thing he noticed was that the man's suit wasn't nearly as sharp as it first appeared, but rather rumpled and decidedly ill-kept. Not old or ratty, just disheveled, like he'd been absently wearing it for some time and just forgot that it was there. His face was scruffy and hollow, dark circles forming under his eyes, and dark hair poked every which way out from under the bowler hat.

His eyes were what caught Skittery's attention, though. Dark and soft, searching, desperate. And right now, they were trained intensely on him. This man looked like he had lost everything and had somehow been searching for a way to get it all back. And right now, it was that spark of sudden hope, of inquisitive recognition, that was quickly becoming unnerving. The man's mouth moved slowly and silently, as if he were trying to put names and images together like the pieces of a puzzle. And then something clicked. His entire face lit up as he stepped forward with more certainty, something resembling a smile of relief gracing his tired face. "Jonny?"

In immediate response, Skittery's eyes went cold and hard. He backed away quickly, tightening his grip on the wooden stick he usually carried around with him. "You," he spat out, his tone dripping bitter venom.

"Oh, Jonny," the man went on, seemingly unaware of the change that had occurred between them. "Thank goodness. I was beginning to think I'd never see you again." He paused a moment, breathing out a sigh of genuine relief as the emotion flowed over him. "Where are your sisters?"

"They're gone," Skittery replied, still glaring harshly. A distinctly unpleasant idea had wormed its way into his head by this point, and he hesitated as he considered it. Finally, realizing that he really had no other choice, he gestured once more to the orphanage. "Anna's in there," he sighed grudgingly. "They won't let me in to see her."

"Don't worry," the man said, his face taking on a determined look. "They'll let _me_ see her."

Skittery gave a derisive grunt and rolled his eyes, but still followed the man out onto the main street and around the block to the front door. His plan wasn't the best in the world, he knew. He had no doubt whatsoever that this man would be allowed in to see Anna. But he was hoping against hope that he'd be able to slip in behind and take her as far away from here as possible before any of them could blink twice – away from this place, away from them, and away from _him_. Because, truly, he wanted nothing to do any of this anymore.

Naturally, he wasn't surprised in the slightest when he was once again refused entry at the front door. The man gave him a sympathetic look as the door closed in his face. Skittery ignored it and pressed close to hear what was being said inside.

"I'm looking for Anna O'Connelly," he heard the man say.

"Your name and relation to the child?" the orphanage director asked, managing to sound very condescending as she did so.

"Jonathan O'Connelly."

"We have already had a Jonathan O'Connelly come asking for her. Several times, in fact, since she came here over six months ago."

"Oh, yes. _Sr_. Jonathan O'Connelly, _Sr_. I'm her father."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for it being short. It took me like a whole week just to get this written, and it seemed like such a nice place to stop. This should solidify any questions or doubts you may have had, but if I have to spell it out more, please let me know. With the story in my head, I sometimes lose sight of what I'm revealing and what I'm not. Anyway, hope you like it, hope to get more out soon


	5. Keep It Safe and Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm. Well, that took forever and a half... Sorry, guys. Hopefully the length makes up for the time it took to write it. Not to mention the content. See, if this were a filler chapter, I'd be _seriously_ ticked off. But it's not, don't worry. And I'm actually pretty happy with the way it turned out. If you want to know my opinion, I think the reason this chapter took so long to finish is because my Skittery muse is currently sulking. See, he's jealous because On the Rise took second place in Best Drama to Up in the World in the Newsies Summer Reading LIst Awards, and as my Spot muse has a habit of gloating, well... Let's just say it's not pretty... But anyway, it _did_ take first in Best Supporting Cast and Vilest Villains (which reminds me, props to Peg for inspiring me to write a new scene with those bad boys this chapter!). And second place ain't nothin' to sneeze at, especially considering the competition he had... Long story short, thanks to all of you who voted! It was greatly appreciated, even if my muse _is_ in a bad mood lately...
> 
> Onward, loyal readers! Sparky, Tip, and Boxer are about to live up to their titles as the Vilest Villains of the Summer...

_And you'll believe there's good in everybody's heart  
Keep it safe and sound  
With hope, you can do your part  
To turn a life around_

* * *

A loud smack resounded throughout the warehouse as Sparky's tirade went on. "How dare you, boy?" Boxer glanced apprehensively at his brother, but Tip just ignored him continued to watch silently. Button stifled a sob and rubbed at his bruised face. "You go where we tell you, when we tell you," Sparky shouted. "How's we s'posed to provide you with protection if we ain't got no idea where you are?"

"But, Sparky," Button pleaded, sniffling slightly. "I thought you _wanted_ me to watch 'em. That's all I's doin'. Just watchin' 'em."

"Yeah? Well, if ya spent so much time watchin' 'em, then you oughta have somethin' to tell me." Button didn't answer right away, eliciting another smack from Sparky. "Listen good, boy. You's right lucky just bein' here, 'cuz we ain't in the habit of takin' in strangers off the street like we did with you. So if you ain't feelin' inclined to return the favor, then I don't see no reason to keep you around."

A flash of panic shot through the poor boy as tears stung at his eyes. "No!" he begged, clutching anxiously at the hem of his shirt. "Please, Sparky. I ain't got nowhere else to go."

"Then whaddaya got for me, kid?"

Button paused again, uncertain. But when Sparky's hand came up to strike him a third time, he finally broke down, his words coming out in a rush. "Okay! A'right! The newsies, they went after the scabs at the Distribution Center. I couldn't see what happened, exactly, but it turned into some kind of riot. They was tearin' up papes an' soakin' scabs an'… An' then the bulls showed up. I thnk most of 'em got away, but I did see the bulls take one. Bumlets, he said they's takin' him to the Refuge."

"Takin' who?"

"Crutchy. They got Crutchy," Button finished breathlessly, blinking hard against the tears that still threatened to fall.

Sparky looked thoughtful for a moment. "The gimp," he mused. "Cowboy gonna stage a rescue?"

"Maybe," Button replied with a vigorous nod, thankful for the prospect of forgoing another beating. "Bumlets said Cowboy was goin' to see him tonight. An' they still got Tenpin in there, too."

"You talk to Bumlets?" Sparky asked suddenly, his voice taking on a vaguely threatening tone.

"No, no," Button answered quickly. "I just… heard him tellin' Mush, is all."

With a small nod, Sparky seemed satisfied. "Cowboy goin' alone?"

"I don't think so. Heard he might take that new kid, Davey, along. An'…" He trailed off, pondering how much he should say.

"An' what?" the older boy prodded insistently.

Button sighed. "An'… An' Bumlets said that Skittery might go along, too. Ya know, to see his sister."

A strange gleam came into the Bowery leader's eyes at this. With a meaningful glance over at Tip and Boxer, a slow smirk began to form on his face. "This is it, boys," he said at last. "This is the big break we been waitin' for. Button, I gotta new job for you. You's gonna be followin' Mr. Glum an' Dumb around from now on. I wanna know everythin' about him, everythin' he's up to. This'll be the best scam this city's ever seen!"

* * *

Jonathan "Skittery" O'Connelly, Jr., leaned against the iron rail and scowled darkly at the street below him. He'd been sitting there on the front stoop of the 36th Street orphanage for nearly an hour now, waiting for his father – or Anna – to come out. After some time, the voices on the other side of the door had moved out of hearing range, and now all he could do was wait. And no matter what he said or did, they absolutely refused to let him in.

This turn of events was going to change everything. He wasn't exactly sure how, but it was. The thought brought a dark gleam to his eyes. What right did this man have to waltz right back into their lives? They'd gotten along just fine without him for the past four and a half years, hadn't they? Of course, he ignored the fact that they'd lived on the streets for the majority of those four and a half years. But they'd been _happy_. Well, up until about six or seven months ago, when everything had started to fall apart.

Skittery shook his head to clear the thoughts. This line of thinking wasn't doing much to improve his mood. But the prospect of seeing Anna soon was heartening, if nothing else, and then he wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore.

Or so he thought. The sounds of angry shouting came from beyond the closed door, and presently the haggard form of Jonathan O'Connelly, Sr., could be seen exiting in a decidedly disgruntled fashion.

Without Anna.

Skittery stood quickly and barred Jonathan's path, his dark eyes shooting daggers. "What's goin' on? Where is she?" he demanded.

"Gone," was the simple answer he received.

"Wait, whaddaya mean 'gone'?"

Jonathan sighed and met his son's accusing gaze firmly. "I mean they don't know where she is. She disappeared a couple months ago, and they haven't seen any trace of her since."

Skittery let out a short, bitter scoff, running his hands through his already-tousled hair in clear frustration. "Wh-What, so you's just gonna… Just gonna walk away, is that it?"

"What else do you expect me to do, Jonny?" the older man asked gently. "They don't know where she is, I don't know where she is. Obviously, _you_ don't know where she is. So, really, what am I supposed to do?"

A tense silence hung between them as Jonathan waited for an answer to his question. It was clear that Skitts didn't have one, but the boy still seemed reluctant to back down. "Ya know what?" he said at last, stepping down to the street. "Forget it."

Jonathan gave a small sigh. "Jonny… Come on, now. Let's go get Louise and look for her, and then we can all go home and just be a family again, alright?"

With a gentle, reassuring smile, he reached a hand out to rest on his son's shoulder, but Skittery shied away, glaring darkly. "Since when do you got an interest in bein' part of a family?"

A look of shock crossed Jonathan's face briefly before it was replaced with a very stern – if a little defensive – demeanor. "Now, I _know_ your mother explained to you why—"

"I don't care!" Skittery spat dangerously, backing away even further. "I don't care what ridiculous story ya cooked up for her. You _left_. You left us _alone_. An' we did just fine bein' a family _without_ you. An' that's the way I aim to keep it!"

And with that, Skittery turned and ran down the street, leaving a very bewildered Jonathan behind. He didn't quite know where his feet were taking him. And, really, he didn't much care. Just as long as it was away from the man that – in his mind – never wanted anything to do with him in the first place.

* * *

The House of Refuge had always struck Skittery as a place of despair and broken dreams. Given the fact that he had nothing but bad news for Louise on this particular visit, that impression wasn't likely to change anytime soon.

Jack had been more than willing to let Skitts come along, especially since it was the perfect distraction for Snyder while he and Davey went to talk to Crutchy. Since Skittery wasn't on the run from the law, and since he had every intention of freeing Louise by legal means, he would normally just walk right in the front door to visit her. Unlike at the orphanage, he was allowed a few minutes to talk with her once or twice a month. But for some reason, Warden Snyder had it in his head that Louise needed constant supervision. The first couple times he'd come, it had been rather unnerving being locked in a room alone with his sister and the Warden, but by now he'd grown rather accustomed to the routine.

He sat now at a small, rickety wooden table in the middle of one of the dingy solitary rooms. Snyder stood in the corner behind him, arms folded authoritatively across his chest. The faint, flickering light from the single lamp on the table barely reached his sinister form, giving the entire situation an even more menacing feel. Skittery tried hard not to let the atmosphere get to him.

Seated in front of him, her small hands clutching his across the table, Louise forced a small smile to her tear-stained face. Her head tilted slightly to one side to keep her tangle of brown curls out of her eyes. "I missed you, Jonny," she said at last, her voice squeaking a little with emotion.

He gave her a small smile in return and ducked his head, hoping the brim of his hat would hide the disappointment he was sure was showing in his eyes. "I missed you too, Lou," he replied softly. "I'm sorry I ain't been up here to see you in a while."

"It's okay," she assured him.

"So how you been doin'? They treatin' you a'right?" Louise gave a hesitant glance up at the Warden before giving a small, unconvincing nod. Skittery caught the hint, but pointedly ignored it. "Listen, Lou," he said instead. "I… I got some… Well, it ain't good news. See, the boys, wit' the price of papes the way they are…" Her face fell before he could even get the words out, her gaze dropping to the table. "Ah, Lou… I'm so sorry. Ain't nothin' I can do about it, though. I mean, wit' the price jacked up like this, even if I was workin', I wouldn't make enough to bail you out anytime soon anyway. 'Sides, this… This is somethin' I gotta do. It's important to me. You understand that, right?"

She nodded, fighting back tears. "Yeah, I know. I just… I just don't wanna _be_ here no more, Jonny."

"I know, Lou. I know." With a sigh, he gently squeezed her delicate fingers. "I told ya, I'm gonna get you outta here. Promise. An' I'm gonna do it the right way, so you ain't ever gotta worry 'bout nobody chasin' you down. Right?" Again she nodded, but seemed less than confident.

He was about to continue, but was interrupted by some rather suspicious noises coming from the one of the main bunkrooms right above them. There was a soft thump of what he assumed to be a window opening, then hushed voices and the sound of footsteps, accompanied by the unmistakable beat of a crutch against the wooden floor. Skittery turned around just in time to see Snyder scowl darkly at the ceiling and then walk out of the room.

When he turned back to Louise, he reached out to brush a lock of hair out of her face and lifted her chin so that she was once again looking at him. "They got Crutchy today," he said by way of explanation. "Cowboy came to bust him out." He paused a moment, just looking at her soft brown eyes. "I want ya to promise me somethin'," he went on at last. "I know things ain't lookin' so good for us right now, but… But just promise ya won't try to escape again, a'right?"

"'Course not, Jonny," she answered softly. Then, with a note of concern, "This ain't about the bail money, is it?"

This time it was his turn to drop his gaze, shaking his head slowly. "Anna's gone missin'. Ran away or somethin'. They don't know where she is."

Louise gave his large, ink-stained hands a reassuring squeeze. "S'not your fault, Jonny. You'll find her. An' then, once ya paid my bail, we'll be a family again. Right? Just like ya been sayin'."

The siblings shared a small smile of hope, though Skitts didn't quite feel it. He had this strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, which could easily have been attributed to his naturally cynical disposition. But something about her words made him uneasy, despite the fact that they had, indeed, been his own just a few months ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry if the formatting ends up doing something funny. I'm not a huge fan of Document Manager right now, but some of you already know that from the issues I had with CtB and it eating whole author's notes... Anyhow, hope you enjoyed it, and can't wait to hear your thoughts! Oh, and send cookies, maybe it'll appease my muse's bad mood and encourage him to write faster...
> 
> P.S. Whoa, hey! I almost forgot to mention this, since I kinda figure you guys might possibly care. Anywho, my birthday is on Tuesday. Yeah, I'm totally stepping into legal drinking age. Not that there'll be any kind of big party or anything, cuz my friends/family don't really give a crap... But if you were wondering, yes I accept fics as presents, especially since in the six years I've been on this site, I have never, not once, received one such fic. Really, I'll take anything, but if you were also wondering what specifically I'd like (except for Paige, cuz I've already told her), some Skittery fluff would be nice. Poor baby's been abused a lot, he deserves a happy ending. That, or some Sputchy with substance to it (my guilty pleasure of late). Or whatever you think I might like. But only if you feel inclined to do so. I'm not begging. Just thought I'd cover the bases real quick. Anyhow, you may now return to your lives!


End file.
